Devon
by Complicity
Summary: Because Jac Naylor never went to Devon. One Shot.


**A/N. Have some happy, guys! This is the product of my journeys to work. Apparently the Underground, the most depressing commute in the world, breeds fluff. Who knew?! x Sarah**

**Devon.**

It's quiet. Darwin has been that way lately and Elliot Hope is quite enjoying the respite. He sits at his desk carefully munching through a tuna sandwich. It's not particularly enjoyable, but tuna is a safe food. For a start it's fish, which is a food group that Jac has promised will not cause her to vomit in his waste paper bin. Secondly, it's bland enough that he can almost guarantee it'll still be there by lunchtime. Unlike his peanut butter sandwich, which he thought he'd hidden well enough but had found her devouring it by 10am. The woman has developed the nose of a bloodhound in recent months.

Elliot contemplates the scene before him as he eats. Connie Beauchamp did some awfully strange things during her gestation period but Jac really takes the biscuit. The exercise obsession had started early. She'd been banned from climbing, kickboxing, her bike and indeed anything she'd apparently consider fun, straight from the off. So, the Runner's World subscription had started, and she became absorbed in working up to 5k's, 10k's, every weekend had a different event it seemed. All the while, she'd moan incessantly about how dull she found running and, alas, that eventually had to kick the bucket too. Instead she has adopted the pregnant waddle that she finds so frustrating, and the current exercise routine that has made its way into the office. So today Elliot is curiously observing his colleague as she lies flat on her back on the carpet with her aching feet resting up on the sofa. She holds a weight in each hand and, arms extended sideways, lifts them from a hovering position over the ground, up as far as she can reach towards the ceiling, then lowers them again. She's been repeating the steady motion in reps for about 15 minutes with a look of stoic determination on her face. He idly wonders if he could do the same even without the weights, and quickly decides he'd probably get bored before he actually failed.

A sharp knock at the door interrupts the Consultants' companionable lunchtime reverie, and Jac answers with a sharp, "Yes." Their latest F1 on rotation appears in the doorway. He's more than a little surprised to see his incredibly pregnant boss lying on the floor in the middle of the room, and he stands there gawking for long enough to make Elliot wince in sympathy for the boy. "Speak!" Jac barks and he jumps. Fortunately Jonny arrives, breathless, at the door behind Dr Digby.

"Emma Hall. AF." Jac abandons the weights and pulls her feet off the sofa towards her. She makes to push herself up into a sitting position but finds her arms are jelly on the first attempt and flops back down forlornly onto her back. Somehow, by this point, Elliot has clambered out from behind his desk, crossed the room and is heading towards the patient with the F1 in tow. Jonny remains in the doorway, and does his utmost to suppress a giggle.

"Did Elliot Hope just out run me?" She whines from her position on the floor. Jonny sighs, closes the door and makes his way towards her. Jac protests a little as he heaves her up by the armpits and slides onto his knees behind her. She wriggles stiffly as he pulls her back to rest against him in a sitting position. The most annoying thing is that in his embrace is the most comfortable position she's found herself in weeks, and she relaxes begrudgingly into him within a few moments.

Jonny looks down. He's inches from her face as she turns it to the side against his chest, closing her eyes for a moment.

"My patient." She murmurs.

"Elliot's on it." He assures her. From this proximity he can see the dark tinge under her eyes through the layer of concealer. She looks exhausted. He also has a fairly direct view down the V of her scrub top, he realises, and he peers carefully down at a sight that makes him smile; Her ample new cleavage that's bulging a little out of her bra. When he looks back at her eyes they're open, and they're pissed off.

"I'm pregnant. You're disgusting." She starts to make her escape but he holds her down easily by her shoulders.

"No! I'm sorry, okay? Sorry! Just, five more minutes. You need a break."

"I've just had a break."

"Well, a break from your break then. Jesus, just, be still for a minute." She relents again and he smiles, pleased with this new power he seems to have over her. Not thinking, he lets his right hand slide around over her bump, rubbing little circles and receiving little kicks in return.

"Ow! Can't you at least wait until it's birthed before teaching it to annoy me?" Her tone is prickly but she makes no further move to flee from his grasp.

"It?" He questions, unimpressed.

"Well, yes." She confirms. "You were the one who was so against finding out the sex, remember?"

"Yes I know, but I mean, 'it'?"

"Well, what do you suggest?"

"I suggest," He speaks carefully, treading eggshells. "We talk about names?"

"Oh no." She's wriggling out of his embrace again. "No no no. Not today, I don't have the energy to fight with you today."

"Well, when?" He's exasperated. She genuinely considers the question but he misreads her expression. "Oh, I get it. When you're ten centimetres dilated, right? When I don't have a leg to stand on?"

"For god's sake, that's it. Two strikes, you're out." She shoves down hard against his thighs and heaves herself up into a standing position. He remains in situ, knowing when he's beat. Just as he's sure she'll storm wordlessly from the room as elegantly as she can manage, she turns at the door. "I didn't go to Devon." And then she's gone. She loves this game; Leaving him with a tit bit of information with which to try and unravel a riddle. It will be significant, of course, it always is.

"Didn't go to Devon." He repeats to himself, confused.

**ooooo**

Mo sighs as she approaches the sorry sight at the Nurses' station. She reckons Jonny has chewed through an entire box of pen lids this afternoon, which must be some kind of record. She snatches one from his mouth as she passes.

"Oi. Stop it." She demands, hoping this particular funk is one she can snap him out of. He glares at her and snatches the lid back. "Okay, what?" She rests against the desk next to him, settling in for a session of irrational bleating that he most likely won't drop until she points out he's not the pregnant one and he stalks off in a huff.

"She didn't go to Devon." He speaks in a very considered tone and Mo rolls her eyes; It's worse than she thought. It's a cruel game that Jac plays because she knows it'll wind him up, he's utterly hopeless at making connections and usually it falls on Mo to sort out the issue before he self combusts. Of course, he's no better. Whilst Jac irks him with mind games he unashamedly cuts her with guilt and duty. In short, they've been vile to one another for the past 9 months and Mo can only see the impending birth as make or break for their tumultuous relationship.

"Right." Mo's unconvinced by this one. "When? Why not? Or why would she have?"

"You tell me!" He exclaims.

"Hey! Me: Helping. You: Stroppy git." She gesticulates defensively as she speaks. "Think, Jonny Mac."

"I am thinking." He grumbles. Mo pauses, unable to identify any time that Jac wanted time off and was refused it, or any reason that would happen. That said, she doesn't tend to wear her emotions on her sleeve and Mo strongly suspects Devon has something to do with only Jonny.

"Maybe it's a metaphor." She ponders aloud. Jonny frowns.

"Course it's a metaphor. She only speaks in metaphors and sarcasm, and I think this might be a sarcastic metaphor." Mo laughs. Sometimes the sincerity with which he deals with these issues is utterly hilarious.

"Okay, explain please." She folds her arms in anticipation of the diatribe.

"Well it has to be a metaphor, because she did actually go to Devon..."

"What?" She's lost now, and swiftly losing interest in his circular discussion.

"When she told me she was pregnant she bogged off for a week to Devon, no warning. Remember? So, is it a metaphor about telling me something? Some news?" He looks so pleased with himself that Mo barely has the heart to mock.

"Oh, you idiot." She chides softly. "Don't over think it, Jonny Mac. She didn't go to Devon." Mo walks off, deciding to leave him to his light bulb moment alone.

**ooooo**

"So." Jonny leans over the Nurses' station where Jac is engrossed in the monitor. She's just sat down, which lately is something she only does when her body refuses to remain upright anymore so he takes it as a good moment to accost her. "You didn't go to Devon, what, seven and a half months ago? Where did you go, and why is that so important now?"

"Bath." She shrugs and speaks lightly, as if it's the least important thing in the world. Then she bounces back up off the seat and retreats, unable to conceal a smirk at his boiling frustration. At any rate, she doesn't want to discuss her private life in the middle of the ward and she's tired of his failure to grasp that. She knows without checking that he's following her towards the back stairwell. She's in no fit state to out run him these days, but he still grabs her wrist as the doors slap shut and seal them off from the rest of the ward. "Oh, stop it." She growls, turning around and tugging away from him, but he only holds on more tightly.

"No, you stop it! Stop winding me up." She's wriggling furiously away from his hold now, to no avail, struck by the anger and the upset behind his red hot eyes and heaving chest. She stops fighting and peers down, placing her free hand on her bump.

"I can't just tell you things." Her voice is small.

"Why not?!" He's still angry, and she shuts her eyes against it.

"Well, why can't you stop telling me what I should and shouldn't be doing. Suffocating me. Making me feel guilty when I'm doing the best I can here. I don't have a lot of experience with this family thing incase you hadn't noticed. I don't have anyone to go to except you, and you're so bloody controlling about everything you get involved in. And yes, that includes constantly manhandling me like a child! Because I need to be in control! Okay?" He drops her hand and she snatches it back towards herself, rubbing her wrist.

"Sorry."

"That'll bruise you know." She grumbles, forever finding another defence to hide behind.

"You're not the easiest person to talk to either, by the way." She sighs in submission, her back crying out in protest, and takes a seat on the stairs. He joins her and they eye one another tentatively, wondering how long this particular truce will last.

"I went to Bath in May. Somebody left me a house."

**ooooo**

21st May.

Jac arrives home to a dark flat and launches herself onto the sofa, feeling physically and emotionally exhausted, distracted by her hopes and fears churning around the pit of her stomach. She closes her eyes and reaches behind her, tapping the answer machine for background noise more than anything else. It pipes into life.

"This is a message for a Ms Jacqueline Naylor. I'm calling on behalf of your Grandfather, Mr Henry Naylor's estate." Her eyes snap open. For a moment, she has trouble separating the cut glass tones from the words that are whirring around her own head, and she's sure she must have misheard. She listens to it three times before she gathers all of the relevant information and scribbles it on a post-it, finding her heart is pounding mercilessly in her chest. She throws the note away once, reclaims it, rips it up, pieces it back together, and feels all together nuts by the time she finally builds up the courage to call a, 'Doris Haywood,' as directed by the solicitor.

"Hello?" The woman who answers the phone sounds frail and tired, and Jac curses inwardly as she realises it's gone ten.

"Ah, I'm sorry to call so late. It's Jac. My name's Jacqueline Naylor."

"Oh!" The lady's voice trips up an octave at this bit of information. "Not at all! How wonderful to hear from you dear, I wasn't sure if I would."

22nd May.

Once Jac makes the decision to go to Bath she has to keep going on autopilot, for fear of questioning herself. She knows her head too well, and that if she sops barrelling forward with an idea for even a moment then her critical mind will tear it to shreds with her insecurities.

She grips the wheel with white knuckles throughout the drive. She's unnerved by her memory, or lack thereof, from the last time she took this route. She remembers how the lethargy from the sepsis had swept over her, leaving her feeling both immortal and disinterestedly close to death at the same time. The thought suddenly heightens the significance of the little life within her and she grips the wheel more tightly if that's possible.

The gravel scrunches under the wheels of the car as she pulls up to the house, and the breath catches oddly in her throat as the door opens in response to her arrival. It's stupid, because she knows full well that anybody else associated with this house is either dead or very far away, but her heart pounds in anticipation anyway. The woman who appears is exactly how Jac imagined; Mid sixties, plump, generic looking and wearer of far too much pink for her rosy complexion. The only thing she can't fathom is Doris' excitement as she trots haphazardly down the garden path. Jac sighs as she shows no sign of slowing, but finds her car door wrenched open from the outside just as she reaches down to open it herself. She's speechless, and becoming irritated by this point.

"Jacqueline! Or, Jac isn't it?"

"Ms Naylor will do fine." She speaks in a low, warning voice as she's goaded out of the car. Her quip receives a strange sympathetic smile and only eggs Doris on.

"It's wonderful to finally meet you. He spoke of you all the time." Jac frowns. Even this woman's sentiments are generic and superficial.

"Somehow I doubt that. I'm just here for the keys."

"Let's go inside then, shall we dear? I'll put the kettle on."

"Just my property, thanks." Jac holds one palm out as they arrive on the doorstep, the other arm blocking the interfering old witch from re entering the house. The woman silently places the keys in Jac's hand, still wearing a knowing smile. They turn away from each other and Jac almost misses Doris' parting comment as she retreats back down the path more slowly.

"Just like her Grandfather. Uncanny. Just as he always said." Jac swings around again, confused.

"What did you say?" The old lady smiles almost wickedly and Jac curses her curiosity.

"Tea?" She repeats sweetly. Jac begrudgingly moves aside and lets Doris lead her to the kitchen. "I know I'm pushing myself on you, dear, and you're not too pleased about it. You young ones don't know the value of sticking together in times like these, trust me." Jac glowers at the woman. Usually, she'd pride herself in being smarter than to unwittingly invite a nosy neighbour into the kitchen. She realises that there's no way of kicking her straight out again now without looking insane.

"Oh, there are no times like these, believe me." Doris' smile doesn't waver, and she fluffs Jac towards the kitchen table, pours the pot of tea and joins her.

"So," Doris starts conversationally, "you're the great heart surgeon? How exciting." Jac frowns, caught off guard by the woman's knowledge.

"How exactly did you know my Grandfather?" She asks in a demanding tone.

"Oh, I'm just a friend dear. I live next door." She gestures vaguely towards her house as she speaks. "Henry was never a great socialite but I pride myself in perseverance. Everybody needs somebody, you know, and such an old man without his family around.." It feels like she's pressing the words across with lashings of guilt and duty and Jac slams her mug down on the table, splashing tea everywhere, before she can stop herself.

"I didn't owe him anything. This is none of your business." She snaps the words at volume, but Doris doesn't look particularly taken aback.

"Oh goodness dear, I didn't mean any offence. I don't for a moment suppose you did. Your mother took you away, when you were very young I think?"

"Something like that." Jac growls, still volatile.

"Do you know, he was such a stubborn old man. I always suggested he should contact you, if he was so interested, he should get in touch; That was his responsibility. He was adamant that he shouldn't, though, and his mind was never easily changed. He always said that you'd suffered enough at the hands of his family and if you wanted to be left alone then he'd let you be. He said that was for the best. For you." Jac narrows her eyes, uncomfortable with all this talk of the past.

"What do you mean, interested?"

"Well, it's the last two or three years really. I dealt with his post and things and he wanted to change his Will, to leave you his estate. Now I knew he had a daughter but I must admit I didn't know you existed, so I was curious, as you can imagine. It all came rather out of the blue you see, 2010 maybe? He so enjoyed speaking of you after that. He was an avid follower of your career. Why, there's a folder upstairs with all sorts of cuttings and articles, he was very proud. Goodness, you're so alike!" She repeats the sentiment as Jac remains stony faced and absorbs this information. She feels a little numb, and she can't deny her surprise at the revelation. Memories from a forgotten corner of her childhood start to stir a little, flickers of happiness, buried so deep she barely recognises them at all.

Jac jolts herself up into a standing position, letting her chair scrape back loudly against the floor, and turns her back on Doris with a sharp intake of breath. She bolts towards the back door, twists the key with ease and almost breaks into a jog as she heads down the garden path. Of course, it takes Doris a minute to catch up with her at the vegetable patch that lives at the bottom of the garden. So she stands alone by the large raspberry bush, and suddenly finds herself biting back a lump that rises in her throat.

The fruit is deep purple, overripe where it hasn't been gorged upon by the wildlife. Most of the vivid green stalks lie horizontally, sprawling from the wooden-edged bed, weighed down by these bulbous unpicked raspberries. More than one of the stalks has been engulfed by grey-brown mould as the fruit's died before it's been eaten. It's only a sodding raspberry bush, Jac thinks, as she feels a fat tear roll down her cheek. Doris clears her throat behind her and she wipes her cheek, turning to face the lady with an uncharacteristic smile.

"Sorry I rushed out here. It's just, this was a paradise when I was growing up." She gestures around herself emphatically. "That's what I remember. He would fight with my Mother during our visits and she would drive off in a huff, I suppose. He would always bring me out here, no matter what the weather." Doris nods. "He showed me how to pick the runner beans and tomatoes, how to tell if they were ripe. We watered the greenhouse together." She turns abruptly to the corner of the garden. The structure still stands but the windows are long lost and stinging nettles rule the ground. "Blackberries filled the hedgerow, and he used to argue endlessly with the neighbour when the man tried to trim it whilst they were in season. He just shouted loudest until he won! Then, there were the raspberries." She turns back to the carefully marked out bed before them. "I had never tasted anything so fantastic. In September we'd pick pounds of them! He had bags and bags in the freezer to make jam with. That's on top of everything I used to eat whilst I helped him pick them. They were always my favourite." She feels tears on her cheeks again, embarrassed by this and her heartfelt outburst. "Well, I suppose he just didn't know what to do with an 8 year old girl! He just retreated out here to hide and I followed. I was so fascinated by it all, and I think he liked that." She speaks hopefully now as she wipes the tears away.

"He did." Doris confirms with certainty and Jac smiles gratefully.

"I don't usually blub on strangers." She confesses, a little embarrassed now. And then; "I'm pregnant." She blurts out the news before really considering it. It's the first time that she's actually uttered the words aloud; Told somebody. Of course it couldn't matter less that a mad old lady in Bath knows her secret, but to Jac it feels like a little victory. It's a first little hurdle overcome.

"Well then," Doris takes Jac's hand to lead her back to the house and she reluctantly obliges, "congratulations dear!"

**ooooo**

Jonny squeezes Jac's hand as she concludes the tale. It's the most candid exchange he ever remembers them having and he feels closer to her somehow, if still a little lost on the gravitas she seems to be attaching to this news. He ponders in silence for a little while, conscious of her gaze fixed firmly on him, and over-thinking how not to say the wrong thing.

"I think it's nice." He finally settles on the inoffensive sentence, but she looks sceptical.

"And what does that mean?" Jonny sighs and places a hand around her shoulders. She's easier to gauge from the tensing and slackening of her muscles than the cryptic poker face that drives him nuts.

"It means; I think that it's nice you have family, and happy memories. You never told me any of that before. I think it's nice that you shared it with me." She seems to retreat into herself with his words, becoming unreadable on all sorts of new levels. He wonders fleetingly if he'll ever have a shot of winning this game.

"Well, okay. Fine. That's not really everything. It's barely anything, actually." She's back on defence, and he lets her have it. "I'm telling you because it's," she pauses, looking for the right word; "Necessary. Practical."

"Why?"

"Because this morning I agreed a sale on the house in Bath, and I'd like to tell you what I think I, we, should do next." Her words illustrate the control she desires over the situation, but her tone is faltering, hoping for his cooperation.

"Okay." She takes a deep breath, and he bites his tongue. His impatience is palpable as he tries not to demand that she just spits it out.

"You're still renting, aren't you?" He nods. "I own my flat outright. I was thinking, you could live there if you like." It's so out of the blue he's knocked for six, not even entirely sure what he's being asked. "I don't want you to keep throwing money away like that when there are other things you could spend it on." She rubs her swollen stomach as she speaks, the message clear.

"Like, move in with you?" She shoots him a glare.

"God no, I'm looking to buy. Somewhere a bit further out of the City I think. With a garden." He smirks at her; She looks a little disgusted with herself as she admits her domesticated plan.

"So, you're asking if you can be my landlord?"

"No. You wouldn't need to pay rent." She scoffs at him, undeniably insulted, and he huffs.

"That's not the point. What happens when you change your mind and kick me out? What the hell do I do then?" She looks hurt, now, by his lack of faith in her sincerity.

"Well then you'll be no worse off than you are now Jonny." She snaps at him and he takes a patient breath.

"Okay."

"Okay? Just like that?" He exhales, nearing the end of his tether.

"Well, what do you want me to say Jac?"

"I want you to say what you think!"

"I think; Okay!" She narrows her eyes at him.

"Good." They sit there in a stalemate for a few minutes, letting the waves of their volatile exchange settle and calm, until they're both individually convinced that they've reached a rational agreement. They stare straight ahead, shoulders touching but otherwise sealed off from one another.

"We should be getting back." Jonny announces, piercing the quiet. He moves to stand but her hand snatches his forearm and holds it in place with such a force it makes him yelp involuntarily.

"One more minute." Her voice is breathy and strained, and he immediately notices the way her other hand is clenched into a white knuckled fist by her side. Her expression is one of deep concentration, but on closer inspection he can see the heat stinging the corners of her eyes and the way she's forcing herself to breathe steadily.

Panic floods Jonny. His heart is hammering into his throat, and he swings around to perch in front of her, taking both of her hands in his and searching her expression with his wild, terrified eyes. A small part of her wishes she had a camera for the spectacle. "What, I don't, shit. Jac, is it? I mean, now? It's happening? Shit!" She shoots him the best withering stare that she can manage with teary vision.

"Braxton Hicks." She assures him. "Good to know where you're at though!" She makes a mental note to ensure that he is nowhere to be seen when it really does happen. He, in turn, doesn't look much less spooked.

"But. How do you know?" He's eyeing her like a bomb he's been charged with diffusing. She rolls her eyes at him theatrically.

"Do you see a baby?" He pauses and studies her face more rationally, so she averts her gaze.

"When did you start getting them?"

"The night before last. It woke me up." Realisation dawns slowly across Jonny's features as the last piece of this particular puzzle slots neatly into place.

"That must have been scary."

"Not really." She lies abysmally but he nods along with the charade.

"You know, if I'm going to move into your place, perhaps I could do it sooner rather than later. Save money." He shrugs and she looks up at him again, her expression deadpan. "I could sleep on the sofa until you find a house. I could drive you to work so you don't get wedged behind the steering wheel, and go to the supermarket so you can avoid the little old ladies and their wandering hands." He gives her a cheeky wink to goad a reaction either way.

"I'm knackered." She admits, relenting to his charm for at least the third time that day. He boldly pulls her into a hug and plants a quick kiss into her hair. "I hate you." She states genuinely into his chest.

"I hate you too." He agrees, holding her tightly.

_Fin._


End file.
